


Six Scenes from the Parkman-Suresh Household

by Lenore



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Domestic, Kid Fic, M/M, Plot What Plot, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-10-21
Updated: 2007-10-21
Packaged: 2017-10-03 18:21:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lenore/pseuds/Lenore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A loose collection of drabbles featuring M3 domestic bliss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Six Scenes from the Parkman-Suresh Household

#### Dreams of Sleep

Mohinder's couch sagged in some places, felt like a lumpy sack of potatoes in others, and every time Matt turned over, there was this one, renegade spring that took a vicious poke at his back. He probably would have fallen asleep anyway, tired as he was, if he hadn't been so distracted by the soft sounds of other people's breathing. Other people meaning: not Molly. He crooked his arm over his eyes and thought how nothing was the way he'd expected. There had been so many times lying in bed with Janice that she seemed a million miles away, like he couldn't touch her, no matter how hard he tried. Now, he could _feel_ Mohinder, shut up behind a closed door in another room.

He let out a sigh. _Just don't think about it._ It was the only way he was going to get any sleep.

The nightmare, when it came, filtered in slowly, a creeping sense of unease before the pictures took shape. A face coming out of the shadows, and pale hands on brown skin, and a thin line of blood that seemed to go on forever. A knot in Matt's stomach, desire so razor-sharp it cut and blunt hate and the connective tissue of guilt, all tangled up—none of it belonged to him.

Matt scrubbed a hand over his face and heaved himself off the sofa and padded groggily into Mohinder's room. Mohinder shifted restlessly, one hand fisted in the sheets, a tightness around his mouth that had no place in sleep.

"Hey," Matt said softly from the doorway. "Mohinder. Wake up."

Mohinder made a distressed noise, and Matt took a step closer.

"_Mohinder_," he said more loudly, hoping he wouldn't wake Molly.

The nightmare didn't stop. He could still see and hear and _feel_ what had Mohinder in its grip.

He moved over to the bed, hesitated just a moment before reaching out to touch his arm. Mohinder jolted awake, the harsh rush of startled breath, arms flailing, striking out blindly.

"It's me, it's me, it's me," Matt kept saying until it sunk in.

He wasn't trying to get inside Mohinder's head, but he couldn't help feeling the lurch of relief. Matt's hand had found a home on Mohinder's arm, and he rubbed lightly, palm circling over Mohinder's biceps.

"Sorry." It was clear that Mohinder didn't mean for waking Matt up.

Matt shook his head. "You know what I tell Molly. You can't help what you dream."

Mohinder ducked his head. "I expect you're right about that."

There was a beat of silence, and it sounded huge in the still apartment. Matt cleared his throat. "Well, I guess—"

"That old couch can't be very comfortable," Mohinder said quickly.

Matt smiled, way too aware of his heart beating. "One of the springs really seems to hate me."

"There's enough—" Mohinder shifted over. "You could— It can't be safe for you to be sleep-deprived on the job."

"No. I mean, yes. Sleep is good." He slipped beneath the covers, less a decision than simple momentum.

Everything, the sheets and the pillow and the very air, it all smelled like Mohinder. Matt lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling, trying to breathe it in without being too obvious. Mohinder turned onto his side, settling down to sleep, but his shoulders were a rigid line.

Matt rolled over toward him, second-guessing himself for just a moment before laying a hand on Mohinder's back. After a while, the tension eased, and Matt curled in as close as he dared, his eyelids suddenly heavy. Now that the sound of Mohinder's breathing wasn't so far away it was very lulling.

* * *

#### Dinner Time

Molly's mother used to love cooking shows. She watched them when she got home from work, as she fixed dinner, on the little twenty-inch set they kept in the kitchen. Molly would sit at the table, doing her homework until it was time to get out the dishes; setting the table was her responsibility. By the time her father walked through the door, the warm scent of cooking had unfurled all through the room. Molly's mother would get this particular smile, and her father would lean in close, and they would linger over a kiss.

Molly understood what it meant.

When Mohinder was home, Matt wasn't allowed to order pizza for dinner, vegetable or otherwise. Mohinder brought bags of produce from the farmer's market, and handed Matt a knife, and vegetables spread across the counter like a rainbow. Mohinder tapped his chin as he considered the tins of spices lined up on the shelf. He shook in a dash of this and a dash of that and stirred the pot. The sound of dinner bubbling on the stove wafted over to Molly where she flopped on the couch.

"Smells good," Matt said, reaching for the spoon. "Can I just—"

Mohinder smacked his hand away. "No, you may not. Wait for dinner."

"Come on." Matt grinned. "Just a little taste." He rested his hand on Mohinder's hip.

Mohinder darted a quick glance at Molly, and she bent over her library book, as if the words on the page were the only things she could see.

"Well," Mohinder said, "I suppose a little taste can't hurt." He dipped the spoon into the pot and held it out to Matt.

"Mmmm," Matt said.

"Yes?" Mohinder smiled.

Matt nodded and ran his fingers over Mohinder's cheek. They leaned in to each other, and Mohinder murmured "mmmm" as they kissed, and Molly understood just how lucky she was. Some kids never had even one set of parents who loved each other.

She went back to her book and let her dads kiss. It wasn't quite time yet to set the table.

* * *

#### A Note From School

It was a quiet evening. Matt was working late. Mohinder had research notes to go over, and Molly sat with him at the table, drawing. Thankfully, there were no red eyes or nightmare black squiggles, just flowers and butterflies and a house with the three of them standing outside it.

"What's a domestic partnership?" Molly asked, as she colored the sky a bright Crayola blue.

Mohinder tilted his head, regarding her curiously. "Where did you hear that term?"

"My teacher." Molly started in on a picket fence for her house. "Miss Loomis asked if you and Matt had one. She said you really should, since you're both my dads." She nodded toward her backpack. "She sent you some papers."

He raised an eyebrow. "What kind of papers?"

Molly shook her head. "Don't know. You can get them if you want."

Mohinder fished an envelope out of Molly's backpack. There were handouts inside, one with the header "P.S. 222: Our Commitment To Children Of Non-Traditional Households," and another outlining New York state laws guaranteeing the rights of same-sex parents.

"Um, Molly, I think we should talk about— What exactly have you been telling your friends at school about our— er, arrangement?"

She shrugged. "Just that we're a family. That's not wrong, is it?" She glanced up from her drawing, watching him as she waited for an answer.

Mohinder hesitated, but the look on her face, and who was he to say what family was or wasn't? He smiled at Molly. "You said exactly the right thing."

She nodded. "I thought so." And went back to her coloring.

Mohinder squinted at his research notes, not really able to concentrate anymore. He wondered what Matt's reaction would be when he broke the news that Molly's entire school thought they were only one Supreme Court decision away from being husbands.

* * *

#### Molly's First Parent-Teacher Conference

Molly's classroom had a poster of a kitten on the door, with the caption: _Curiosity got the cat into Harvard_. It struck Matt as a little intense for eight-year-olds. But, hey, what did he know? He hadn't been in school for— well, he preferred not to do that math.

He knocked, and a woman said, "Come in."

The room smelled like chalk dust and the particular scent of finger paint, nothing else like it in the world, lost along with childhood. Molly's teacher, Miss Taffee, stood up from her desk. "Mr. Parkman?"

He nodded, and they shook hands, Miss Taffee holding on just a second longer than Matt was entirely comfortable with.

"You're a police detective," she said approvingly.

Matt looked down at the gun holster and the badge clipped to his belt. "Oh, yeah. I just came from work. I didn't have a chance to—"

"It's wonderful to see such an involved father. I'm assuming you and Mrs. Parkman are," she lowered her voice, a habit from spending so much time with children, "divorced."

"Uh, yeah. But—"

"You know, you're my last appointment of the day. So, if you'd like to get a cup of coffee while we discuss your daughter—"

"Actually, Molly's other dad wanted to be here, too."

She blinked. "_Other_ dad?"

"He's running a little late," Matt said apologetically. "He should be here any minute."

Miss Taffee sighed and muttered under her breath, "Why do the nice ones always have to be gay?"

"Excuse me?"

She shook her head. "Nothing. I just said— I'm sure we'll have a nice conversation today."

"O-kay." Matt pointed to one of the chairs in front of Miss Taffee's desk. "Should I—"

"Sure. Fine. Whatever." She sounded strangely disgruntled.

Happily, Mohinder breezed through the door right then.

"I'm so sorry to be late. Miss Taffee." He held out his hand to her. "I'm Mohinder Suresh. Molly's other guardian."

Miss Taffee shook his hand dejectedly. "The truly gorgeous ones always are."

Mohinder exchanged a puzzled look with Matt as he settled onto a chair.

Matt took a big breath. "So. About Molly?"

"Yes," Mohinder said, "we're very interested to hear how she's doing."

Miss Taffee waved her hand. "Oh, Molly's fine."

"But Miss Loomis said—" Matt began.

"Miss Loomis is a worrier."

"Some of Molly's drawings have been rather disturbing," Mohinder pointed out.

"I've seen worse," Miss Taffee assured them. "At least, she doesn't draw herself with a machine gun in every picture."

"So…is there anything we should know?" Matt asked.

"Anything we should be doing differently?" Mohinder chimed in.

Miss Taffee shrugged. "Molly is smart and curious. She raises her hand in class. She's getting good grades. And she has at least three little boys following her around at every recess. Trust me, there are grown women who'd envy that. If you're worried that having a non-traditional family is going to hurt Molly, don't. Studies show that children of homosexual life partners grow up to be just as well-adjusted as kids from nuclear families."

Mohinder shook his head. "Oh, but we're not—"

Matt draped his arm around Mohinder's shoulders. "That's great to hear, isn't it, honey?"

Mohinder raised an eyebrow at him.

Miss Taffee slumped in defeat. "I'll keep an eye on Molly. If I see anything to be concerned about, I'll call you."

Matt nodded, pulling Mohinder by the arm. "We'd appreciate that."

He herded Mohinder out of the classroom and down the hall. A squeak of hinges made him look back. Miss Taffee ducked her head out the door, watching them. Matt hooked his hand under Mohinder's elbow and muttered, "Just go with it, okay?" He tilted Mohinder's chin and moved in and brushed their lips together.

Miss Taffee, who knew defeat when she saw it, returned glumly to her classroom.

Once they were out on the street, Mohinder asked, "So what was that all about?"

"Trust me. The last thing we need is that woman thinking either of us is available."

"She wasn't that bad," Mohinder insisted.

Matt shook his head sadly. "This is why you have no business going after the Company. No sense of self-preservation."

Mohinder laughed softly. "That may well be true."

He stopped Matt with a hand on his arm, pulled him around, and kissed him again. It had nothing to do with pretense.

After a moment's surprise, Matt said, smiling, "You do have some really good ideas, though."

* * *

#### Oh, Those New York Apartments: The Things You Hear

They were at it again, whispering, although the walls were made of tissue paper, not even Kleenex, but the cheap kind they sold at the Dollar Store. Molly rolled her eyes at her two dads, fondly.

_You're not doing it right, Mohinder._

I told you I'm a novice at this, Matt. You promised you'd be patient.

I am. I just— it's all a matter of putting Tab A in Slot B, you know?

Like this?

Mmmm. Yes. Good. Good.

And now I'm going to—

That's it. That's it. Just keep—

Can you put your hand—

Here?

Now if we both just—

Yes.

Harder…

There was some not-so-quiet panting, and what might have been a stifled groan, and then a softly uttered— well, it was a word _Molly_ wasn't supposed to say.

"God, I can't believe we actually did it." Matt sounded a little winded.

"Not bad for a first time, I'd say." Mohinder was downright smug.

Molly closed her eyes and pulled her pillow closer. Tomorrow, she could stop pretending she didn't know about the bike they'd gotten for her birthday. As long as their workmanship held up, she'd spend the whole day riding it. There was a lot to be said for having two dads, really.

* * *

#### RBI

Yankee Stadium smelled like baseball. Not that Matt could explain what that meant exactly. He just knew it when he came across it. And this? Definitely it.

"The grass looks very nice," Mohinder granted, squinting in the bright July glare despite his sunglasses.

Molly munched away cheerfully on her Cracker Jack.

The top of the first was a quick one-two-three inning, Andy Pettitte with his good stuff today. A breeze blew in from the outfield, pleasantly, and Matt flagged down a vendor for another round of beer. He handed a cup to Mohinder, who smiled, relaxed and content looking, and Matt realized with a start that he hadn't thought about his job or his father or the Company once since they'd stepped foot on the number 4 train that morning. He smiled back at Mohinder, just as happily.

The Yanks came to bat. Jeter bunted for a base hit. Abreu struck out.

"Watch this," Matt told Molly and Mohinder. "Jeter's on base. I bet you A-Rod gets a hit. He really likes to drive Jeter in."

Mohinder raised an eyebrow, and even though Matt couldn't see his eyes, he felt certain they were bright with amusement.

"I'm talking RBIs!" Matt insisted. "Not— Okay, fine," he had to concede, "maybe with those two—"

"They broke up," Molly volunteered.

"Really?" Matt said distractedly, eyes on the game, and then it registered. "Wait? What? Where did you hear that?"

"At school." Molly dug through the Cracker Jack box, trying to find her prize. "Kenny Peterson said that they used to be in love, but then A-Rod said something mean, and now they're not anymore. It was in the newspaper and stuff."

"Um—" Matt looked to Mohinder, who just shrugged, no help at all.

"I'm glad you and Mohinder won't ever break up." Molly broke into a sunny, caramel-toothed grin.

"Uh—" Stuttering was becoming a way of life for Matt.

Mohinder just smiled, mouth softly tilted up, and not for the first time, Matt thought that a smiling Mohinder was possibly the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

He swallowed around a sudden lump in his throat. "I'm really glad too, Molly."


End file.
